#2024cbe

some things to keep in mind as we're celebrating characters played by and modeled after a māori man:

you can find the full pdf these are sourced from + more information on the subject here

if you're like me and you want to see some māori films that have māori cast members from the star wars universe, here's a list with free watch links where available:

tem's māori-focused films: once were warriors, what becomes of the broken hearted?, river queen, rain of the children, mahana/the patriarch (i'm also fond of a tv show he did called adventurer)

whale rider (keisha castle-hughes, aka queen apailana & emerie karr)

“You’re getting better. You might end up better than me one day.”

Omega’s nose crinkles playfully. “I’m not sure Tech would call that a good use of my skillset.”

“Well, Tech’s not here. Arts and crafts are way more fun than ship schematics anyway.”

“You’ve got that right,” she says, and you think she sounds just like her brothers.

She’s a smart kid, probably the smartest kid you’ve ever met, so she catches on to new things fast. Her fingers are agile and quick, and her mind is always running. How she hasn’t outsmarted the entire island by now is a mystery to you.

Today’s lesson, if you can call spending time with the sweetest and funniest soul in the galaxy a lesson, is learning how to string kukui nuts and shells into a necklace. There are plenty others who have mastered this art, who craft elegant strands of nuts and shells that look more like art than mere jewelry, and Omega is definitely better at it than you are, but it makes you smile, gives you something to do when your hands are restless and your mind is prone to wonder. And it helps that you can barter with your nicer pieces.

The waves roll gently up and down the shore, bubbling over the rocks and soaking the sand that’s crumpled up by your feet. There aren’t many seashells left, which means you’ll have to go hunting for more soon. You’re just about to suggest it when an embarrassingly loud grumble comes from deep in your belly. You freeze; Omega’s bright, attentive eyes flicker to you, and you both dissolve into a fit of giggles.

That’s how he finds you – lounging in the sand, your leggings rolled up to your knees, and cackling like a goblin.

“Having fun?”

Hunter’s shadow falls lengthwise over you. He’s placed his hands on his hips in a poor imitation of a scolding father, but his faux seriousness is entirely marred by the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

Omega grins. “More fun than you are!”

“Now that I believe.” He steps around you so he can crouch in the space between you both and your heart very much doesn’t jump at the new proximity. Definitely not. “What’s all this?”

“We’re making necklaces. See?” Her latest creation is promptly displayed on her splayed fingers.

He takes a moment to study it. The shells are tiny already, but they’re even smaller in his hand, dwarfed by the length and breadth of his thumb and forefinger. You’re not sure why you notice that out of everything. It’s a silly thing to notice.

“You did this all on your own?” he marvels.

“Well...” Omega looks to you with a hint of shyness. “I had a little help.”

She's far too modest. “Very little,” you correct. “I just showed her how.” One of your baskets is quickly exchanged for Omega’s necklace, much to Hunter’s surprise. It is, after all, half full of stranded shells and nuts. “She’s a natural.”

Hunter’s brows shoot so high up his face until you’re half afraid they’ll jump right off. He looks to Omega, then you, then back to her. “You made all of these?”

For a moment it seems she’s not sure how to respond. She scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck for a bit, hesitant, even flustered, before finally nodding. “I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

“Omega,” her brother sighs, and it’s all tender and proud, the way a father should be. Something warm alights in your heart at the sight. “These are wonderful.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He smiles, and so does she, and that secret desire you pretend not to have, the one that delights at his nearness and the gentle affection he bestows so generously to his siblings, the softness hiding beneath his battle-hardened exterior, explodes inside your chest like a blossom finally unfurling.

“I hate to pull you away,” he continues after a moment, “but it’s time to eat.”

Omega groans but doesn’t protest beyond that. She’s quick on her feet, gathering up her things and haphazardly dropping them into the basket she then perches on her hip. You, on the other hand, are a bit slower than that. Pabu works many miracles, but it doesn’t make you any younger or faster, no matter how refreshing the sea air may be. Your own basket of seashells and kukui is organized and fastened shut, then your shoes gathered in your hand, and then – and then you find Hunter’s hand extended to you.

You brush off your shock as quickly as you can, hoping it doesn’t linger, that it isn’t noticeable, and take the offer with a smile that matches his own. The contact is brief, far too short for your liking, but it quickens your pulse enough that you fear your heart will catapult from the cavity of your chest all because he looked at you, touched you, and it’s all you ever dream of.

His fingerprints still burn into your skin long after his hands have withdrawn. You almost wish they would scar if only to have a physical reminder of him when he’s gone.

“Thanks.”

He nods, and the sun shines golden on his face. There’s a wordless moment where he extends his hand to you again and you think he’ll take hold of you a second time, guide you off the beach like that, and you’re not even sure you’ll survive such a thing, but then you realize he’s asking for your basket. And you’re disappointed, but so, so relieved.

“That’s okay, I got i-”

His fingers curl around the basket handle, gentle but firm. There’s no room for discussion, not as he tugs it free and settles it under his own arm, not as he tells you in everything but words that he will carry this thing for you, he will carry anything you need, anything you want, and you never need to ask. You only wish that he would do it because he cares.

“You don’t have to do that, y’know.”

Hunter’s brow furrows, but you blink and it’s gone. “I know,” he says.

The walk from the beach to Shep’s house is relatively short, but it always flies by when you walk it with him. Perhaps because he makes you feel safe, secure, because he makes you smile when no one else can. Perhaps because you never want these moments to end. Perhaps because, if you’re really honest with yourself, you know that he fills the part of your heart that longs for more, no matter how uncertain you are if he would ever allow himself such a thing.

Dinner at Shep’s is never a simple affair, but it’s always happy. Good food, pleasant chatter, the sound of Omega, Wrecker, and Lyana’s laughter, Phee’s gently barbed remarks and Crosshair’s witty retorts, Batcher barking and huffing between gulps of food, and even the more serious conversations shared between Hunter and Shep tend to be more comforting than not. It’s home, plain and simple. It was never meant to be, not for you, but somehow… somehow that’s exactly what it’s become. He doesn’t know, at least you don’t think he does, but none of it would’ve happened without him, without that too-good heart of his beating fast and strong below his bones, that heart you wish you could call your own one day.

Funny how easy it is to be foolish, isn’t it?

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Shep’s followed you to the balcony where you’ve chosen to watch the last remnants of the sunset as the colors bleed into the clouds and the dark, stormy shroud of night begins to fall.

You tilt your head back, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the starts through the clouds. “Sorry. Just had something on my mind, I guess.”

He nods, as if he understands, and you truly think he does. He’s a wise sort of man, kind and smart in a way that only experience can provide. “You know you can always speak your mind.” His forearms find the lip of the balcony the same way yours have. “If something’s bothering you-”

“It’s not you, Shep.” You don’t dare say what it is, but you almost wonder if he knows. “I have a little too much to think about sometimes, y’know?”

“I do,” he says, and he nods again. You think he’s about to say something else, but he’s stopped by the weight of a hand upon his elbow, the gentle intrusion of Hunter’s presence as he steps into the conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He gestures to the expanse of clouds as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. Though for him, you suppose it is. “We’ve got bad weather incoming. Probably best for everyone to head home now.”

Shep agrees, and the others are quick to hurry back to their own hovels or to the Marauder, but Hunter walks you home.

You both know he doesn’t need to. And, you think, you both know he’s only doing this because he feels duty-bound. It hurts, but you revel in his company all the same, just for these few moments.

“I should go,” he says once you’re both inside, dripping the beginnings of the storm onto the stone floor, but he seems loathe to admit it.

You both spare a glance out the window. The rain’s already coming down harder than it was just a minute ago. It’s pattering hard atop the roof and there’s enough force behind it that you’re almost afraid it’ll blow your windchimes clean off.

“Hunter, you’ll get soaked. At least stay until it’s eased up a bit.”

That’s the least you can do, isn’t it? After everything?

But rather than immediately accept the offer, Hunter grimaces. His entire body stills and starts to shift away from you, not a lot, not even in a way that might be noticeable to anyone else, but you know him, his tells, all the subtle ways his body responds to the world around him. You recognize immediately that he’s uncomfortable and that knowledge hits you right in the gut, sharper than a vibroblade.

He shakes his head, politely. “No, I, I should go. I’ll be fine.”

It’s the fact that he refuses to even look at you that does you in.

And you know you should let it pass. Really, you do. Take the blow and roll with the remaining punches the way he and his brothers do, but you’re not strong like they are, and your heart is so much more fragile than theirs.

You sigh. “Why d’you have to be like this?”

Impossibly dark eyes flicker in the muted lighting, landing somewhere near yours. “What?”

“If you don’t like me, Hunter, just say it. You don’t have to pretend, okay? That just makes it worse.”

His tattoo crinkles as his face shifts, each line of inkwork rippling until he’s frowning at you so intently that the weight of it feels enough to crush you. Then his head tilts and the coils of his hair fall over his eyes, and he’s so beautiful that you think you might cry.

“What are you talking about?”

Maker, is he really gonna make you say it?

A brief turn of your shoulder gives you the spare moments you need to compose yourself, and as you survey the tiny hovel you’ve turned into a home, you find yourself thinking again of that last night on Ord Mantell. The night you realized Tech was dead and Omega was gone, and you knew your life would never be the same again…

It’s a goddamn Imperial fleet. You’ve never seen so many ships at once before. They crowd the sky, faintly and briefly illuminated by streaks of lightning and the few pricks of light coming from the city as they descend. You don’t know why they’re here, but you don’t really need to. You know there’s only one thing on Ord Mantell precious enough to draw the Empire out here and it’s not any one of the petty criminals or their shady deals passed under the table and off the books.

If you had any of their comm channels, you’d be satisfied with asking if everything’s alright, if they need a place to stay. But you don’t. Instead, you run. It was a boring night off anyway.

The bar is trashed when you get there. Tables overturned, blaster marks scorched into the walls. Cid’s nowhere to be found and neither are the clones, and it leaves a terrible, sinking feeling in your gut. None of this is right.

Stumbling back outside, you see a handful of Imperial ships lifting off, one already shooting for the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Whatever they’d come for, they’d clearly found it, and Maker, you prayed it wasn’t any of them. Anyone, anything but them.

You come stumbling into the landing zone just as the boys come through the far end, already approaching their ship. Your throat is raw and your entire body hurts from being pushed far beyond its usual limit.

“What, what happened?” you gasp between desperate mouthfuls of air, hands clutching your knees as you double over. “The Empire-”

It’s then that Hunter comes swooping into your personal space, so close that he takes up every inch of it, totally filling your vision until the shadow of his tattoo and the dark glinting of his eyes is all you can see. There’s no time for your stomach to flip or your face to flush hot. There’s only time enough for him to grab you and push until your back hits solid durasteel. It’s cold, sharp, violent where it digs into your back, but no colder than the quiet rage you see carved into Hunter’s face now.

“You sold us out.”

You’re too confused to be offended. “What?”

His forearm finds your throat and presses until you’re properly pinned between him and whatever unyielding thing he’s backed you into, and when you look up at him, you find that you’re afraid of him for the first time in your life. He looks murderous.

“Hunt- Hunter! What are you talking abo-?”

“They took her.” He's clearly furious, but there’s a deceptive calm about him that rattles you to your bones. It’s not the calm and quiet demeanor of a battle-hardened soldier, but the cool and distant resolve of a man on the edge of desperation. “Because of your boss. Care t’ tell me why?”

You struggle to look over his shoulder to the others behind him. None of them have come to your aid, though Echo looks like he’s about to. And Wrecker... What the hell happened to put him in a neck brace? You look back to Hunter, seeking his face for something you’re not even sure you know how to name, only to find his body wrapped in bandages and his face bruised. Something’s not right, something more than just the Empire.

They took her. Took… who?

You glance at the others again. Wait. Where’s Tech? Where’s Omega?

His words pierce through your heart when they cycle round your head again.

They took her.

No.

Your boss.

She wouldn’t. She... she couldn’t. To them, maybe, but to Omega?

“Hunter,” you croak with a voice that cracks under the weight of your horror, “where’s Omega?”

Nostrils flaring, he presses harder into you until you actually choke, his teeth bared and gritted, flashing white against his skin. It’s the most monstrous you’ve ever seen him. “You tell me.”

You’ll kill her. If he lets you live, you’ll march yourself down to the parlor and kill Cid yourself. Doesn’t matter that you’ve never flared beyond the supernova of a rookie punch, you’ll level a blaster at her head. That is, if Hunter permits you to live past the next few minutes. You’re honestly not sure if he will. But then, if you’d kill for Omega, you don’t think you want to know what kinds of atrocities her brother would commit. Perhaps you’ll learn firsthand.

Echo stops him, but he cuts it concerningly close. Air rushes through your lungs so quickly that it hurts, and you find yourself wilting until your legs give out.

His voice wrapping around the syllables of your name is enough to bring you back to the present, to the cold, dismal reality of the disaster of a relationship your friendship has become. You look to the hand at your wrist, the long, calloused fingers and the scars that crisscross his knuckles, the swirling tattoos atop his bones that disappear beneath the cuff of his sleeve, then up to his shoulder, his chin, the flared base of his nose, and then to his eyes. You swear you dream of them every night.

“What is it?” he asks in that deep, rumbling timbre of his.

You’re so heartbroken that all you can do is smile. “What do you think?” Flashes of an offered hand, the lifting of a basket, the quirk of a smile when you crack a joke or the lifting of a brow when you manage to surprise him, the lingering of his gaze when the nights draw dark and your mind is dulled with sleep – they all filter through your thoughts in a single instant. “You don’t have to keep making it up to me. What happened on Ord Mantell is done, Hunter. I just…” You shouldn’t say it, you should keep it buried deep inside your heart and let the wound fester until you burst, but now that you’ve started you find you can’t stop. “I just wish you’d stop killing yourself trying to earn my forgiveness when I gave it to you a long time ago. Especially when I know you hate me.”

The storm rages on while you fall into silence. The wind whips and whistles against the windows, the rain pummels the ground, and all the while you wait for Hunter to finally admit what you’ve known to be true for the past year.

Instead, he loosens his grip until his hand falls away and you hear, rather than see, the dropping of his shoulders in the way he sounds utterly wrecked when he mutters, “Is that what you think?”

Your breath stalls in your chest. “Isn’t it true?”

“No,” he says too quickly. Like he’s lying, like he’s trying to cover his tracks.

“Hunter-”

“You really think that?”

“Fuck, of course I do!” You turn on him and gesture to the awkward, uncertain tilt of his body as if it were the most offensive sight you’d ever seen. “Look at you, you don’t even want to be near me! You act like I burn you half the time we touch. What the hell else am I supposed to think?”

If ever you’ve seen Hunter wish he could crawl into his skin and die, now would be it. All it does is further affirm what you’ve long suspected, and it kills you, the same way it’s been killing him to re-earn your favor. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend like you’re not head over heels in love with him, despite how much he hates you, despite knowing he might have killed you once not so long ago. Despite everything, you love him. And he will never love you back.

You storm to the door and slap your hand against the controls. It hisses open as the sharp winds of the storm come bursting in. Half the house seems ready to blow away, but you don’t care.

“Get out.” Even though it’s the exact opposite of what you want. “Now.”

And because he hates you, he acquiesces. Head bowed low and his eyes cast to the floor, Hunter steps outside without so much as a farewell, and he takes your heart with him.

You’re not sure how much time passes between then and now. It could be a whole hour, or a few seconds of your heartbeat thundering inside your ears. Does it matter?

“I wish I’d never met you.” He’s almost certainly gone by now, but you find yourself wishing that he could hear you. You want him to hurt as much as you do now. “I wish I’d never fallen for your stupid face.” You rub the back of your hand over your eyes and nose, and it comes back wet with your grief. “Wish I’d never gone to Ord Mantell, and I wish I’d never fucking met you, and I wish, I wish…”

Say it, says the little voice in the back of your head. No reason to hide it now.

It’s to the empty room and the cold, tragic rain, you finally admit the secret that’s been eating you alive: “I wish I could’ve loved anyone but you.”

No one responds. There are no frantic confessions of mutual feelings, no gentle knocking at your door. Not that you’d expected there to be, but a part of you had hoped. No, Hunter’s gone and you’ve made a fool of yourself for no reason at all. You dread to think what tomorrow will bring in this storm’s wake, how the chaos will have torn your new home into tatters, how Hunter will watch you with the same distant, burning eyes that break your heart and stitch it back together all at once, how the island will feel as foreign as it did the night you first arrived. You’ve already started mourning the daily gathering’s at Shep’s, the way Wrecker makes you laugh and Phee tells her stories, and Hunter loves Omega like the daughter she almost is, and now it’s all gone, forever, and maybe, just maybe, you were lost to the depths of your heart that very first day that the Marauder touched down on Ord Mantell and the squad came into Cid’s. Maybe you were never meant for finer things like requited love and a place to belong to.

It’s this endless spiral of illogical conclusions and shattered dreams that Hunter returns to. You never hear the door open, nor the worsening of the storm, but you do hear the soft squeak of his boots on stone, the gently trembling exhale of his breath as he squats beside you. You turn as he comes to you, your face damp and snotty, and it’s embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. How could he when he takes your face in his hand like he was made to do it? His headband is soaked and his hair is dripping wet, the tight coils of his bangs now plastered to his skin.

“Don’t cry.”

You only cry harder, but this time Hunter pulls you to him. You let him. He’s soaked, just like you said he would be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with your head tucked beneath his chin and your shoulders shaking under his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

 “You left,” you sniffle.

One of his hands finds your neck. It’s cold, but the touch sparks tendrils of warmth down to your toes. This way, your head is tilted back and his is inclined toward you, almost as if…

“You asked me to.” His breath fans across your face, down your throat, dipping low like the path his eyes take as he assesses you. “I don’t hate you. I never have.”

You could fight him on it. You could, but you can’t find the words. You can’t find any words. You don’t know what to say. Kriff, you can barely think right now with the way he’s holding you, watching you, how completely he fills every one of your senses.

“I don’t… know how to do this. I’ve already hurt you before, I don’t- I can’t do that again.”

There’s a hesitancy there, though. You see it in his eyes, in the set of his bones, somehow managing to pull away from you while still staying so deeply entwined with you. He’s unsure all over again, perhaps even as unsure as you are.

“Hunter…” Your hand finds his face, unbidden but perfect all the same, and he leans into you. “I already forgave you. You don’t have to-”

“I heard you.”

He… Huh?

Frowning, you start to pull away as you blink through the confusion and the watery film along the bottom of your eyes. “What?”

He tightens his arms about you to draw you closer and while your pulse skyrockets, you’re not sure if it’s because you’re terrified that he’s so close or panicking because he’s just close enough. You can smell him, now – the faint tones of sweat and sea salt and the wine from dinner – and you swear it’s enough to capsize you. Hunter lowers his gaze, then his face, so, so close to yours that he’s the only thing you see. And you think, you hope, he’ll kiss you, but you’re afraid of what might happen if he does.

“I heard you,” he says again, softer this time. His brows have pressed together above his nose as he focuses upon the spot just below your own. “Cyare… All this time, I thought I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t know.” His nose bumps yours. “Cyare,” and you hope one day he tells you what it means, “can I?”

You don’t need to ask what he means. You only have to nod. “Yes,” you murmur, and that’s when he kisses you.

It’s a cautious thing, so hesitant and timid, but Maker it’s beautiful. Even if this is all he ever gives you, it would be enough to know that he tried, that you learned his taste and his touch when it felt like the world was crashing down around you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before trying again, more frantic, more eager as his mouth presses into yours.

“I forgive you,” you promise before burying your hands in his hair.

The next few moments are a flurry of adrenaline and kisses peppered on skin, the rustling of fabric and the creaking of the sofa when it takes your combined weight. Hunter seems to have found his confidence along the way, and you’ve found your courage, and it ends with his teeth at your lips, and your tongue at his throat, and confessions pouring from you the more he gives and the longer he takes.

“I couldn’t, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nips at your jaw. “It’s always been you, Hunter. Always.” He kisses your cheek, then your brow, then the corner of your mouth, hands trailing across your hips and arms as he goes. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything, I just love you so mu-”

His kisses steal the tail end of your confession, drawing into his mouth to mingle with his own until you swear the two of you become one.

“’s alright, mesh’la, ‘s alright. I know.” The bump in his nose is a caress against your cheek as he nuzzles into you. “I feel the same.”

Since the moment they have left the ARCA barracks, neither of them had said a word. Darman walked at a hurried pace towards the hangar where the attack shuttle with which would leave the planet was already waiting for them. Niner did his best to keep up with him. Rede followed in their wake, just as silent but probably for a different reason.

It had only been a few hours since Darman and himself had left Roly Melusar’s office. A few hours since the final plan to desert was now decided. He probably should have been sleeping, but Niner hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night. Rede, blissfully unaware of what's going on, had been snoring like a vibrosaw for hours. Dar had been lying motionless in his bunk, probably awake too. However, Niner hadn't dared to talk to him. Prying eyes and ears could be anywhere. At dawn, while the other two were packing, he took advantage of a favorable moment and retreated to the 'fresher to use the secure channel in his helmet and contacted Ordo.

“We're on our way to you, vod,” he had said, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible.

“About time,” Ordo had replied. "It wouldn't be long before I would have grabbed Dar by his gett’se and dragged him out of there myself!" It had been one of Ordo's usually harsh answers, and yet Niner had clearly heard the joy and relief in his brother’s tone.

“I’ll report back to you when we’ve left Coruscant’s orbit. If you don’t hear from me in the next three hours, something has gone wrong.” With one click he had ended the connection.

With every step Niner took, he more and more felt like his pulse rate was going to hit the roof. Everything was as usual. Commandos who practiced on the parade ground, droids who carried out cleaning and repair work. And yet he had the feeling that all eyes were on them. He resisted the urge to turn his head and look around.

And what's next? The moment they are going to take off with the shuttle, life as he had known it would end. No army, no training, not even a structured daily routine. All he would have left would be his brothers. At least that would be the way it has always been. Dar, in his black Katarn armor next to him, gave him a sense of certainty. And finally, after so long, he would see Fi again! A thought he found some solace in. Rede, however... What would happen to him? Dar called him a blank slate - Niner thought he was an incalculable risk. To avoid the inevitable and to control the oppressive feeling that was almost suffocating him, he tried to make plans. He didn't get very far...

Because as soon as the shuttle came into view, he saw the colorfully painted Katarn armors of Delta Squad, as well as the featureless, dull gray one of their new squad member, in its shadow. His heart sank and he heard Dar curse under his breath. Were the boys here as reinforcements? Or as snitches? Or had they already been busted before they even left the Imperial compound?

“You’re already out and about?” Boss greeted him as they were within earshot.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Niner replied as both men eventually placed their right hand on each other’s left shoulder in greeting. Even though everyone was wearing their helmets, Niner could tell there was something else just by the tone of their voices. Something unspoken.

“It has come to our attention that you have been assigned to a special mission.”

“Oh yeah?” Darman sounded noncommittal. “Where did you get that from?”

“Holy Roly. We had a briefing this morning about our deployment on Ossos.” When Niner heard that Delta was assigned to another planet, he relaxed a little, at least for his standards. Still, the fact that anyone else was informed about their operation at all gave him an overtone.

"Where are you heading to?" Scorch, who had remained conspicuously calm until now, asked a short time later.

“Well, he didn’t trust you that far, did he?” Darman teased.

“Not everyone can be as buddy-buddy with him as Squad 40,” Scorch sneered.

Then it was quiet. None of the men moved, and Niner wondered if he and Dar were about to end up having to shoot their way into the shuttle. The odds were against them. All of them.

“Anyway, we wanted to say goodbye to you,” Boss said. “Oh osik… I forgot the farewell present for you in the quarters.” He turned to Fixer in a conspicuously theatrical manner and tilted his head towards the barracks. “Go back and get it!”

“Why me?” Fixer grumbled in response. “Can’t Levin go? He’s the new kid on the block.”

Farewell present? Niner tensed imperceptibly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Darmansubtly reach for his vibroblade in his vembrace.

"You're right! Levin, there's a little box in my locker with a fancy red bow on it. Can you please go and get it quickly? Then we’ll head off to Ossos.” Niner couldn't shake off the feeling that something was indeed very wrong. Since their joint special mission on Coruscant, the relationship between the two squads had improved a lot, but he wouldn’t go to the point where they’d give each other gifts. So what did Boss aim at? Call for reinforcements?

Levin growled like Fixer had before, although a little quieter and more reserved. The fact that he was the new guy left him little room for negotiations with his sergeant. He turned to leave... a blue glowing circle of a shot sent him stunned to the ground. A split second later, a second one followed and Rede collapsed next to him to the ground, unconscious. Dar and Niner both simultaneously drew their dezees. Win-or-bust. Was it pure coincidence, fate or the subconscious that stopped them from firing straight away? Whatever, Niner sent a silent prayer to the Force.

Scorch shrugged his shoulders and jumped down from the ammunition box he had been sitting on until just now.

“Are you planning to strike roots over there or are you going to give me a helping hand?” He nudged Darman with his shoulder before grabbing the immobile commando by the wrist and dragging him toward the ramp. “Come on, we can’t take forever before someone notices!”

As if in a trance, Darman and Niner grabbed Rede to haul him aboard the shuttle.

After all, in the months since he first began to realise he had caught feelings, his resolve around Nia changed. His very act around her altered. He went out of his way to see her, even coming up with excuses in advance and making sure his helmet was on so no one could see the lie clearly in his eyes.

Resisting interrogation by Sith was much easier than hiding a lie from his brothers, but Stars above being with Nia was easier than breathing. He’d lie, or die trying to if it meant being with her for as long as they could be.

At some point, there became less of a gap when he stood next to her or when she sat beside him, and when a gap had to appear for the sake of friendliness? He missed her. Missed her. Missed her like he missed dead brothers. Missed her like he missed oxygen at altitudes where the air was low. When they eventually became close enough where arms and knees touched, he cursed the plastoid tomb of his body for being in their way; when he was injured to any degree where her hands were needed, he could have fallen asleep to their gentle caressing, doing their job yet afraid to hurt him. The number of times he had the urge to hold her cheek and pull her close…

That was against the rules, of course, and he struggled with the concept of breaking them for anyone, even someone he loved so profoundly she had found her way into his dreams and his every thought off the battlefield until Echo died.

No one cared that they must have been hugging each other for five or so minutes. Truthfully, he didn’t care about breaking the rules anymore. That night, he checked in on Nia without his armour on so she could be comfortable in case she needed him. So he could be comfortable, too. He didn’t expect her to hold him as he sat in silence, barely touching his brew. Yet she shifted her chair to be next to him and slotted herself so neatly against him it felt like she belonged there. It surprised Rex, a moment he could almost laugh at now, but not as much as his decision to perch her on his thighs so he could be entirely encompassed by her presence and bury his face in her neck to breathe.

And Maker since her rescue his heart beat for her in ways he thought it never would: Love’s marching band between his lungs, pounding against his sternum to go to her.

He was just glad she was awake now. It had been a few hours since he last saw her; the doctors had urged him (and the troopers already there) to let her rest. But with nothing to do, he was restless even after he had been treated for his injury.

Still stings. 

It would stop hurting in the morning, he knew, once they were all on The Astoria and returning to Coruscant for some much-needed Shore Leave. If Kix would allow him to (which he doubted the Medic would), he’d stay with Nia. He’d rest better in her vicinity. Knowing that he was there if anyone wanted to hurt her of course.

Although, being on General Ylandra’s ship, perhaps he wouldn’t need to ask Kix at all:: it would be Achilles, the chief Medic of the Two Tenth Assault Legion’s Tempest Company. He’d say no most definitely; that didn’t mean he couldn’t ask Arc Commander Ace or The General herself if he could.

Maybe he’d burrow a bed and stay next to Nia if it was what she wanted. If it was what she needed to keep nightmares partially at bay.

Even if he wasn’t allowed, there was something he wanted to do every day: something he never thought he would ever be able to do or give her even once in his life.

Rex was going to kiss her goodnight no matter what. And he was going to kiss her in the morning. Even the afternoon and evening. Even if it was clumsy and shy to begin with, or clumsy in a stupidly confident way.

I’m going to do it no matter the consequence.

 Maybe to a Natborn in a core world, it would seem pathetic - they were not in the firing line every day, wondering when the next air strike would be, when the next wave of battledroids would come, and they weren't created only to fight - but to him, who didn't know when his life would end, when anyone's life would end, what else was portraying love so certainly as the innate desire to greet her in the morning and wish her a good night's sleep at night? 

“Rex?” The captain of the Five-Oh-First froze with wide eyes and threw his arms behind his back. Skywalker had seen him, Ahsoka by his side, and his grin was deeply amused. “You never struck me as a man who liked flowers.”

“They help the, uh, wildlife. General.” His back was too straight. Rex knew that. But he couldn’t fix it now. That would have made it worse. Much worse.

“Not so much when they’ve been cut.” Ahsoka’s grin was equally as wide as Skywalkers. 

“There might be bees that find their way in through the windows? And it encourages the plant to create… more... Flowers?” “That still doesn’t explain why you’re carrying a bouquet?”

“We wrote a card for Peonia, General Skywalker and Commander Tano.” The speech was that of Hardcase, who he didn’t know was in the same room, but his expression was less surprised than his Captain’s: he was nothing but sincere. That either meant he was a better liar than the rest, or he was speaking the truth and one Rex had no knowledge of. “Captain Rex thought that, as is tradition to non-clones, it would be a good idea to cut some flowers from the gardens at the place of two thousand rooms to give her with it. The Captain assures us all, and I shall assure you, that Peonia is okay with flowers and the doctors say her condition has no ill effect on her sinuses or respiratory system in any way so they’re perfectly fine to give.” “Really?” Skywalker tilted his head curiously, “I thought she had allergies.”

“Only to non-Amarantian varieties of trees and grasses, Sir.” Hardcase wasn’t put off by any amount of questioning, and he stood perfectly at attention. “These flowers,” a hand gestured calmly to the bouquet, “are made up of native, naturalised plants as well as those cultivated here in the north of the planet. We’ve been assured that she is immune to the pollen in these flowers.” 

“Captain Rex,” if Rex's back wasn't already straighter than a plank, it was straighter than three when Skywalker looked at him once more, “You know Peona's medical history better than me: is this true?” 

“Yes, Sir.” He cleared his throat. “She is unaffected by these plants, as Hardcase has said.”

“I'll leave you to deliver them to her then, Captain.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

“Oh and, uh, Rex?” He looked then at Ahsoka - she had grown a lot over the past year and a half, but she was still the same littl'un at heart. “Good luck.”

“For… what?”

“For your involvement with her.”

“Now, where'd you hear that, littl'un?” 

Ahsoka only tapped her nose with a grin as smug as Skywalker's before chasing after her master with as much zeal as the shinies in their ranks. 

Rex smiled and rolled his eyes - padawans - before looking at the proudly smiling Hardcase. 

“What're you grinning at?” 

“Just happy for you, Sir.”

“Over…?”

“Your relationship.” Hardcase has guts - more than Fives - by saying it so easily. “You're less stiff around her.” Rex's eyes went wide and the trooper in front of him only grinned wider. “C'mon, Rex, it's obvious. All the guys know it. I think only The General's oblivious.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Then he looked sceptically at Hardcase. “You really got a card?”

“Better than that, Sir. A card with flowers.” There was a wink and an unapologetic wink from the trooper before he spun casually on his heel and strolled off with a whistle. 

He could only roll his eyes and shake his head with a smile: May you never change. 

He knocked on the open door three times. Rex smiled, flowers in front of him, when Nia looked up from her holo and sketch pad with lips curved up in a matching grin. There was a softness to her gaze despite the weariness - like he was her universe. 

It flustered him on the inside, to be thought of with such regard. Lucky for him, because she was his universe and more. 

But her holo showed an image of him doing some things as casual as sliding across a floor with his decees drawn. Why she was drawing him he had no idea, but if he was paler he swore he would have reddened the same way she did when she was embarrassed. 

“Drawing me?” 

“Of course.” She gestured him inside and he did as he was bidden, closing the door behind him to offer some modicum of privacy. Her arms were bare and the room felt stuffy. Too stuffy. He walked over to the windows and opened them slightly. “Pray tell, why I wouldn't draw you?” 

“Because I'm… not a good subject?”

Her laugh was beautiful though her wince from her healing rib wasn't - but it was better to see a wince than nothing at all. After all, if she didn't make any face at all…she was either in a coma or dead. 

Even so, he pulled a seat at her bedside and leaned down to kiss the crease of her brows.

“I think you're very sexy as a man and a subject.” He coughed on his saliva which only caused her to giggle and hold his face. “Sorry. They say I still have some of the anaesthesia in my system.”

“Just surprised you think so when I'm fighting for my life.”

“Well, Rex? You're badass one minute and soft the next - that is very sexy of you.”

“O-Oh? Well, I, um,” Rex pressed his forehead to hers and brushed his nose against hers, her skin warm from the sun through the windows and his warming at her words, “I think you are, too.”

“Of what one? Sexy, badass, or soft?” 

“All three?” She grew warmer beneath him and his smile became smug. “What? It's true.”

“Soft? I get. The other things? Don't get.”

“We'll get there.”  With a quick peck to her lips (one he fought restraint over, for one touch wasn't enough) he moved back to sit in the armchair. “I got you flowers.”

“So I see.” She grinned and took the bouquet from him to slot into the vase of water. “The boys came not long ago with a card.”

“Hardcase alerted me to there being a card.”

“I did wonder why your name wasn't on there. Jesse said you would much rather kiss me senseless.”

“Well, I… would like doing that but not until your rib's better. So I'm not hurting you. At all.”

“You say things like that and make me want to kiss you like it.”

Some part of him shut down in surprise, yet another part of him swelled in relief that it wasn’t just him. Rex traced a bruise on her cheek and his thumb rubbed gentle circles on the apple of her smiling cheek. She was nearly lost to him. Nia was nearly lost to the cosmos and...

.

Stars it still stung. Still destroyed him. To think he nearly had this ripped away? To know he never would have had the chance to give her flowers and bleeding fingers from rose thorns? To know he never would have been able to caress her cheek or be looked at like he wasn’t just a soldier…

“Rex? Love?” Love… Sounds right when she says it. He traced the outline of her face, his forehead returning to hers, but her voice was ready. Always ready to comfort anyone. But her hands were… they were soothing. Comforting. They followed up his arms and to his cheeks. Her palms were warm.”Hey, I’m here. I’m still here.”

“I know.” He whispered against her lips. “I’m kriffin’ glad you are…”

“And you’re stuck with me until you grow bored.” “Impossible, mesh’la.”  Rex smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing, as he lifted his head enough to be looked upon again by her silver-hued eyes. Irises he thought, even for a moment when she took longer to wake up from surgery than expected, he would never see her again. “Stuck implies I’d hate it.”

“What would you be then?”

“Busy loving you good?”

“Sounds like we both had the same idea.”

“How?”

He heard her sniffle followed by a small laugh. He saw the watery sheen in her eyes. “I’ll be too busy loving all of you to ever feel stuck.” Nia nuzzled against him once before moving, scooching to the other side of the bed, and began moving her things. 

“You'll get a numb bum in that seat. Lay with me.”

“I-Is that even allowed?” 

“It's not gonna make my heartbeat go into shock and you need a good nap.”

He blinked, swallowed thickly, then nodded. “A-Alright.”

“Hey, Rex,” he reached to his side to pry the armour seals apart, “I'll even cover my eyes as you take off your armour in case it feels like you're getting nekkid.”

He would have warmed ridiculously if it wasn't for her grin and the way she covered her eyes as if she was finally allowed to be herself and not on high alert at all times. For someone who was serious when needed and someone who cared so much about all things in a heart that was settled at sixty beats per minute, she knew when to be carefree. When to be silly. When to do something with a grin on her face to make him laugh with a roll of his eyes. 

“You've seen me take off my armour before.” Even so, he allowed her to remain giggling under her hand. “You’ve also helped me take it off.”

“Both occasions during checkups and the latter only with some injuries that affect your movement.”

“Hm, that is true.” As he removed the plastoid casing from his body, he put it to one side. “You're more gentle than me.”

“Because I care about you. You can be such a bloke - you want things off as quickly as possible, even if you damage yourself in the process.”

Rex laughed softly before standing to remove the last of his armour and his boots. “I forget you have a brother sometimes.”

“Many do unless they want to blame him for something political he has zero power over like the uneducated masses: I mean, he has no voice in local politics so don't yell at him for the extremist that got elected due to a protest vote. Just don't protest vote that's how extremists get in power and remove your rights right under your nose.”

Her heart rate increased though her tone remained steady. “It annoys you, doesn't it?” 

“Grinds my gears, yes. It's why I could never take my birthright on the Northern Realns’ throne. I'd get too stressed and die in two years.” Nia shook her head with a smile and a sigh. “Anyway, that’s why I decided not to go into politics: that’s my brother’s duty now.”

“What did you want to do when you were young?”

“Many things: acting, singing, athletics, voice acting, and writing. Horticulture and botany at some stage. Even thought of being an architect.”

“So, how does someone like you join the GAR?”

“Had Mandalorian training and didn’t belong anywhere, saw you guys, thought ‘what’s the point? I’m just sat here crying my life away with crisis after crisis’ and signed up.” Rex removed his boots and stood with a stretch. “You saw us clones and thought to join?” “And with the time I spent with you, Fives and Echo? I considered you friends, still do of course, and I like being around my friends. When I have them, of course. It’s hard being a name: people forget you’re a person and focus too much on blood. But with you guys? You treat everyone like a person. Big tick. Plus I thought you were nice and I wanted the chance to at least bump into you again.”

His eyes went wide. He blinked and stared at her as if she was both crazy and… wonderfully beautiful. She cared enough about him for even the slimest chance they’d bump into each other? “On one hand, that’s stupid.” Her face fell, but he continued and slid onto the bed beside her. He kissed her bruises, gentle and lingering as if it would heal them quicker, as he removed his gloves. “Other hand that’s a high compliment.” She hummed and took his hands. Her fingers were colder than his and her thumbs ran over the sore spots from thorns, before they wove between his. “People do stupid things when they’re in love, you see. And I was in love with you as a friend before I was romantically interested. So I may have done some stupid things unintentionally and without thinking.” “Sometimes I think you’re more reckless than Fives.”

“Rude.” She giggled regardless and lifted one of his hands to kiss the heel of his palm. “Thank you for the roses, love.” “Are you… really thanking my fingers?” “They got wounded being so nice to me, of course I’ll thank them.” She laughed again, her head moving to rest over his heart, before she settled her breathing again. “No, really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“I’ll even get you a card and write a note.”

“Oo, a love note?”

“Only for you, mesh’la.”

“Will you read it to me?”

“My handwritin’ that bad?” “Just like your voice.”

Rex blinked, watching her drape an arm over his torso, and he had no restraint to his very being reach out to her. Her hair had been cleaned, more than likely to do with pre-op preparation for sterilisation purposes, and it felt less like dust and straw. It wasn’t as soft as he had grown used to feeling when his fingers brushed against the auburn strands, but the refreshment told him she was in safe hands.

When the other clones dream, she knows they dream of living in a galaxy without war. Of self-determined, indisputable rights and lives of their own. But when she dreams, she dreams of being a soldier alongside her brothers. Not for the glory of the Republic or for some misplaced loyalty for a cause she doesn't care for, but for the chance to be more than what she is.

She wonders now, not for the first time, what life might be like if she had been granted that opportunity, if she had been a medic in the field or a corporal strapped with armor. If she could settle on Coruscant during shore leave with the rest of her brothers, if she could walk into that bar they sometimes talk about, where the lights are dazzling and the girls are always pretty, where a clone could find heaven in the supply closet. She wonders if she might have known what love is then, if such a thing might have been possible in that other life.

For the first time in a very long time, you wake up and Jesse is there. No more deployments, no more long-distance calls and patchy video messages. No more waiting for him to return to you, longing across the vast expanse of the globe, franticly worrying if he's near a battle zone or not, if his life is at risk. No, for the first time in a long time, neither of you has to worry about any of that.

He's finally free.

You press a kiss to his bare shoulder, light enough that he doesn't wake, and fully intend to stop there, but having the canvas of his skin exposed to you like this, in the quiet paradise of a modest cabin in the middle of literal nowhere, away from war and work and the hustle and bustle of everyday life, you find that you cannot stay away from your soldier for very long. You can't keep your mouth off him.

After all, you have a lot to make up for. Years worth of time apart, time when you could have been showering him in your affection.

"Mm, got something on your mind, babe?" His voice is roughly carved and guttural this fresh from sleep.

You pause only long enough to swat playfully at his butt before you continue kissing and nuzzling your way along his shoulder blade. There's no real rush, no method to your madness, not even an underlying desire for more as you explore him - just a simple desire to love the man who's carved a space for himself in the caverns of your heart.

"Just love you," you say when your lips reach the nape of his neck.

Jesse shivers, then suddenly flips onto his back so he can grab at you. You squeal and he laughs, and everything's a blur for a few moments as you both struggle to wield your leverage against the other, but he wins in the end. Jesse always wins.

His nose presses to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, and you feel his breath stir warm and stale on your cheeks. "Ka nui te aroha."

You kiss him, and he smiles into it the way he always does. "Love you more."

"Not possible."

"I dunno. I hafta put up with your morning breath, so I think that means I love you more."

"Tch, shuddup," he groans, to which you challenge that he ought to try and make you, and the morning devolves from there.

It's only some hours later, when you've both showered and dressed and eaten (and gotten distracted by each other every inch of the way), that you finally leave the cabin and head outside. Summertime has finally breached Aotearoa's shores and every corner of the country is celebrating - the birds are singing, the wind is mild as it carries the sunshine along, the trees lounge lazily while the cicadas buzz and click incessantly, and Jesse is eager to show you it all. He takes you for a walk through the forest, up and down windy paths under shaded canopies, past fields of wildflowers and tiny streams that trickle over scattered rocks.

This world is a lot of things. It's fractured and hurting in too many ways to count, but it's also beautiful and sweet, an ever-evolving universe spun from natural majesty and love and sunlight. You feel it now - the sun, burning into your skin in that wonderfully pleasant way it can only do when the clouds are long gone and the sky is dazzlingly blue. And much like the Earth to its star, you find yourself drawn into Jesse's orbit as he guides you through the countryside.

You're both toasted and sweaty by the time you return to the cabin late in the afternoon. Twilight leads to a lazy evening spent lounging on the sofa, watching your favorite show and munching on tim tams.

"I'm glad you're finally home, babe."

He nuzzles his face into your cheek and smiles. "Me too." It's funny how you never noticed how long his lashes were. Or maybe you'd forgotten with the distance. Either way, you can't help thinking he's the most beautiful man on Earth when his nut-brown eyes pierce through them. "Thank you. For waiting."

You'd have waited 10 lifetimes over for him.

It's there in that cabin, tucked into some obscure corner of the country where the cicadas drive him half crazy and the sun burns his head, that's where he asks you the question you'd never been sure he would ask, what you were afraid he'd never live long to say.